


The Nice and Accurate (and Accidental) Confessions of Anthony J. Crowley, Demon

by Nayeliq1



Series: The Nice and Accurate (and Eternal) Rest of Their Lives [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale being an adorable oblivious idiot, Crowley being an adorable flustered idiot, First Kiss, Fluff, God sorta ships it because of course She does, Idiots in Love, Ineffable things being not so ineffable anymore, M/M, accidental confessions, after the Armageddon-that-wasn't, angst but kinda...fluffy angst anyway, because a certain someone blurts them out just so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nayeliq1/pseuds/Nayeliq1
Summary: "You really want me to say it?" The angel was still staring, opened his mouth, closed it again.This wasn't a good idea. Not at all. It was probably the worst idea he'd ever had, and bad ideas were kinda his profession. Saying just one more word would be a terrible terrible mistake, he knew it. Because one word would possibly lead to another. And another. And another.For a moment, Crowley considered if maybe he shouldn't have become literate at all in the first place. Well, screw it, too late now. Then it dawned to him that he could simply choose not to let the words out he'd unfortunately learned. Yeah. Sure. Of course. Easy peasy. Just don't say it.His mouth seemed to have different plans.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Nice and Accurate (and Eternal) Rest of Their Lives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774690
Comments: 8
Kudos: 119





	The Nice and Accurate (and Accidental) Confessions of Anthony J. Crowley, Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Just quickly wanted to point out that this is my first time writing for these two cuties or Good Omens in general, so I hope it didn't turn out totally terrible. Anyway.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'd be happy to hear your thoughts - in case they are not ineffable ;)
> 
> Special thanks to my wonderful cousin who introduced me to this wonderful fandom and now so persistently has to endure me and my writing struggles as beta and advisor. I thank God for giving her a brain that says 'fuck the seven years age gap' and works creepily precisely like mine!

"We did it." Aziraphale was still a bit surprised even as he sat next to Crowley on the bench in St. James Park that was one of their meeting spots. Fine, _very_ surprised.   
"The earth is saved", he detected incredulously, but with a blissful smile of realisation forming on his lips as the truth of his own words seeped in.

"Yes, it is." The demon was crouching next to him, slumped back with his elbows resting on the bench's wooden back. The gaze of his golden eyes behind the black-tinted glasses wandered over the people of London, happily strolling through the park and down the streets without a single care in the world, unaware that their planet had just about slipped from the grasp of safe destruction.

"We're...quite a good team, aren't we?" The angel looked down at his hands in his lap, unsure how the other would react to his hesitant words, but Crowley just grunted in confirmation. 

"So...ah. What are you gonna do now?", he asked then, watching Aziraphale's profile.   
"Being excommunicated and everything?" He could see the angel's brow furrow as if that information had been new to him, he lifted his head, but kept looking in front of him, eyes strictly settled on the lake with quaking (and -thanks to them- still very much _alive_ ) ducks on the other side of the pebble path.

"I didn't give it much thought, honestly", Aziraphale admitted slowly, apparently trying to process how right Crowley was with his depiction of their current status (or whatever you wanted to call it). "I... yes, I suppose that's what we are now, aren't we?"

"Maybe they'll finally leave us alone", the demon muttered with a little glance above and below, unsure if he'd rather be unobserved at the moment or take the chance to bid those bastards a last farewell with his middle finger. If someone had asked him, Hastur and Gabriel could gladly rot in Heaven _or_ Hell, both were bad enough for all that he knew. 

"Oh, I'd think they would keep an even closer eye on us after everything that happened", the voice of the only supernatural creature he didn't wish a very painful annihilation (well, discorporation, at the least) interrupted his gloomy thoughts.

"You still think they check everything that happens on earth, don't you?", he asked, his voice somehow a mixture of annoyed disbelief and fond amusement. (Oh, innocence, thy name was Aziraphale...)   
"You've always been far too gullible, angel." At that, the one in question finally turned to face the demon, opened his mouth as if to contradict him, but apparently thought better of it and closed it again with a rather shaken expression.

"Well, I- I..."

"It's fine." Crowley cut his unconvincing stuttering off with a dismissive wave of his hand.   
"I know you can't help it. Anyway, I'm suspicious enough for both of us."

Both of us...   
_We can go off together_ , the demon's voice echoed in Azirapahle's ears. _Run away together..._

"Do you.." He swallowed visibly. "Do you still want to go away?"

"Nah." Crowley shook his head, trying to keep up the usual indifferent appearance he had worked so hard on creating. "Now that the earth is not gonna be destroyed. Doesn't matter anymore." And _he_ wouldn't have come anyway, so what choice was there, really?

Silence. Both were lost in their own thoughts for a while, until-

"I shouldn't have asked you in the first place, it was-"  
"I should have come with you when you asked me to, I-"

"Wait, what?" Crowley had shot up to a straight position in the blink of an eye, wondering if he had heard correctly, steadying himself with a hand on the back-rest, staring with wide (even though invisible) eyes at the man opposite, who, on the other hand, had turned away again in a rather poor and utterly failing attempt to hide his blushing face.

"N-Nothing, I just.." He trailed off, nervously wringing his hand in his eggshell-white lap. He closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath (for gathering far more than oxygen) and with all the courage he could muster, faced the demon again. He had thought it would be hard, getting the words out, but as soon as his eyes met the dark glasses and the golden shimmer he was sure to notice leaking through them, it just tumbled from his lips, rushed and uncoordinated.  
"Maybe it was a mistake", he blurted out. "I mean, no, it wasn't, we saved the earth after all, but... just in case we hadn't and everything had gone terribly wrong, which it could have, easily even, I mean it was sheer luck after all and if we'd failed...and if you'd left, for Alpha Centauri or wherever, it might have been the sensible thing to do, probably, I wouldn't have blamed you, anyway...well, what I'm trying to say is...actually..." He let out the breath he hadn't known he had been holding (for a moment he wondered that there was still air left in his lungs after such a flood of words, but then he remembered that he didn't actually _have_ to breathe).   
"I'm sorry I said there was no _our side_ , that's all."

Crowley swallowed, praying (yes, actually _praying -_ it was really not his day) that the other didn't see it. Thankfully, it seemed to work. At least his voice sounded remarkably steady and calm when he spoke.

"Oh no, don't apologise", he sighed. "I guess, you were right. You always are, _obviously_. Angelic stuff and all." He gestured vaguely up and down the angel's body as if that would make it somehow more tangible. (Which it didn't, of course. It probably just looked stupid.)  
"You couldn't have left", the demon continued, for that was what had become clear to him after he had made this utterly idiotic and irrational proposition. "It's not what you do. Rather the demonic way to handle things, isn't it? Running away when stuff gets real, letting others deal with it." 

"But you never did that.."   
Ugh, this endless empathy and understanding. So terribly... _angelic_.

"Oh, I _did"_ , he contradicted him. It was the truth. "Many times. And would've done it again."   
_But not without you_ , he thought.   
"But not you", he said instead. "Of course, _you_ had to think about humanity first. It couldn't matter to you what _I_ wanted, nor you. You're too damn selfless. You care too much about everyone here and their pathetic little lives. You care so much for so many things-"

"So why wouldn't I care about you?"

The soft reply caught the demon off guard and he lost the thread for a moment.

"Wha-?"

"Of course it matters to me what you want, Crowley", Aziraphale said to his great astounding, the gentle smile that was so uniquely _his_ forming on his lips. "Why would you think it doesn't?"

"I'm fallen, angel." There wasn't much more to say, really. "I'm not worth being cared about. At least not anymore."

"Oh, stop it!" Aziraphale gave the demon an almost scolding look - that was, if he was physically capable to produce something as unpleasant as that. "That's all nonsense and you know it. As you said yourself, you did more... _saunter vaguely downwards_." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and Crowley could do nothing but stare at it, grateful that the glasses were hiding his eyes.   
"But you're not a bad person, Crowley."  
"You do know that, don't you?", he added after a while, for the other made no move to answer. The brow over Aziraphale's questioning eyes furrowed in concern at the continuous silence.  
"Oh, I-I never- Crowley, you truly think-" He trailed off to leave the words hanging thickly in the air between them, half question, half observation. Crowley could practically watch the increasing shock spreading over his face when the meaning of unspoken words sank in. His blue eyes widened, and for a moment it almost seemed like he was going to reach out to take the demon's hand, but the fleeting little flicker on his face was gone before his arm had moved.  
"Then let me tell you now, once and for all: You are _not_. I know you", the angel said determinedly instead, only to row back again the next second with slightly rosy cheeks. "I mean, as much as anyone knows you, I suppose."

He should have thought this an insult rather than a compliment, Crowley thought guiltily. But coming from the angel, _this_ angel, it couldn't sound anything but...nice. Even though it wasn't true.

"It doesn't matter what you think", he muttered. "Or rather what you're trying to make yourself _believe_. I'm a demon", he said as if that would explain anything. And for him, it did. "There's nothing to be done about that. And _you_...you're the epitome of love and kindness, you-"

"Well, of course." Aziraphale looked almost puzzled at his remark. "I'm an angel."

Crowley shook his head.

"It's not that", he said, unable to stop himself. "It's you."

"Oh..." The angel gave a little embarrassed laugh and blushed further. He was so cute is was positively disgusting. "Don't be ridiculous", he stammered, struggling not to avoid his eyes in uneasiness. "I'm a creature of love by nature, that's all-"

"Nonono. Listen."   
Crowley wasn't sure what was happening. What on earth was he _doing_? He should just leave the topic. He was running the risk of giving away...well, _too much_. But there was this sudden urge in him, the need to make the angel understand how special he was. He had no idea where it came from, or why it set in just now, but he simply didn't know how to resist it. So he didn't.   
"It's _you"_ , he said firmly. "I've met other angels. And it's not the same. Not at all. Your presence is unlike anyone else's I've ever witnessed, on earth or above", he added, gesturing to the clouds to underline his words. "You radiate kindness like warmth, Aziraphale. The gentleness in your smile is palpable. You- you're _perfect_ , you-"  
What. The. Fuck. Was wrong with him? He heard himself say the words, but it felt more like he was watching someone speak, rather than being the one who spoke. As to the angel's face, he seemed just as startled as he felt himself. Not to blame him, really. Babbling like a complete idiot about kindness and _smiles,_ for Heav- for Hel- argh, for _Goodness_ ' sake...  
"What?", Crowley snapped, not knowing how else to help himself restore what might be left of his dignity. "Didn't think I could say anything nice, or what?"

"No!" The angel looked even more horrified now than before, which was so very pure and _him_ that the demon could have moaned in frustration. "No, that's not at all what I wanted to say. I-...Thank you." 

Aziraphale smiled and Crowley groaned. This was probably the most embarrassing moment of his entire millennia-lasting life. (And that included the incident with a herd of angry goats back in 366 BC.)

"Please don't make a fuss of it", he pleaded, rubbing a hand over his face in resignation. "No big deal, really. You're a damn _angel_ , 's all."

"Still, it's just...nice. To hear you say it." Aziraphale kept smiling at him, and Crowley cursed his increasing heartbeat at the sight. (He didn't even _need_ a bloody heartbeat!)  
"I didn't know you thought about me that way...", the angel continued, "sometimes you're just very hard to read, Crowley, you know that?"

"I'm not! Not to you anyway, I'm sure." As soon as it was out, he could have slapped himself. He seriously considered to just keep his treacherous mouth shut. For the rest of the decade, at least. If the angel noticed, he chose to ignore it, thank God (or _someone_. Whatever). 

"Well, you are", Aziraphale simply persisted. "I mean, most of the time I'm not even sure you like me, you-"

"Wait wait wait. _What_?" (So much as to keeping his mouth shut, damned thing.) "Are you _serious_ , angel? You're not sure if- For hell's sake, I've been following you around for six damned millennia, you ethereal idiot!", he burst out, his frustration growing as Aziraphle stared at him in open-mouthed confusion.

"Following me around?", he stammered. "That's not at all-" 

Crowley didn't give him any notice.

"I walked into a bloody church to save your stupid ass", he cut him off without further ado, "I've spent _centuries_ watching you eat a blasted piece of cake basically in slow motion, I even miracled that blue stain off your ridiculous coat, I-"

"You remember that?" Crowley just cast him a look that was surely answer enough, even behind black glasses.

"I-I'm not sure what to say, really..." Aziraphale blushed _again_ , thinking that such displays of embarrassment happening to angels should be prohibited somehow. Too late to establish such a law now, though. Probable that it had already revealed everything, anyway.  
"Me too", he thefore smiled almost shyly. "I remember, I mean. All of it."   
And with this, the demon's angry desperation was blown away like the soft breeze of a feathered wing, leaving Crowley rather empty and sad. He didn't know which feeling he preferred, honestly. 

"I wanted you to run away with me", he sighed. "How wasn't that enough to make you see how much I-" - depend on you, need you, _lo-_ ( _No_ , he told himself rather unconvincingly. _Not that one_.) Still, there were so many ways to finish that sentence. He swallowed all of them.

"I guess I'm a bit...slow, sometimes", the angel admitted with an apologetic shrug of his white-suited shoulders. "And the idea was just so impossible, I didn't think...And you never actually said..." He trailed off, but one look in his eyes was enough to know exactly what he'd been about to say.

Why. He'd never actually told him _why_.   
Of course not. He hadn't even been ready to acknowledge it in front of himself. Perhaps he still wasn't. Or maybe he was.

"You want me to say it?" The angel stared at him. Silent. 

It wasn't suuuch a bid deal, really. They were friends. Well, very _very_ long acquaintances that would therefore be called a friend, just for reasons. Mhm, reasons. Of time. _Not_ affection. Certainly not. Not that he didn't like the angel. He did. Like...a normal amount. Not a secret. Not so much of a secret, anyway. Usual amount, it was. Yeah, absolutely. He'd just been around longer than anyone else, 'was all. The conversations were not too terrible. Well, quite fine. Okay, _nice_. And the dinners. And the drinking. Even the drunk conversations. _Especially_ the drunk conversations. Damn.  
Fine, maybe he loved him. Just the tiniest of tiny bits or something. Almost not at all, really.   
Well. Fuck.

"You _really_ want me to say it?" The angel was still staring, opened his mouth, closed it again.

This wasn't a good idea. Not at all. It was probably the worst idea he'd ever had, and bad ideas were kinda his profession. Saying just one more word would be a terrible _terrible_ mistake, he knew it. Because one word would possibly lead to another. And another. And another.   
For a moment, Crowley considered if maybe he shouldn't have become literate at all in the first place. Well, screw it, too late now. Then it dawned to him that he could simply _choose_ not to let the words out he'd unfortunately learned. Yeah. Sure. Of course. Easy peasy. Just don't say it. 

His mouth seemed to have different plans.

"Alright then", he heard himself say in mortification, "I did it because I didn't want you to die." 

Fine, that wasn't too bad, was it? No death-wish. Plausible. Usual. Normal acquaintance stuff.   
But as it seemed, he wasn't done yet. Far from it.

"Because the thought of living in a world without you in it seemed utterly pointless", his tongue poured out without having been instructed to. "Because an _existence_ without you would be utterly pointless. Because eternity without you and your silly angelic stupidity would be simply unbearable."

Crowley knew it was over. He could feel it. Something inside him had broken and released everything he had piled up in the furthest corner of his heart, hidden away from everyone's sight, even his own. And now it had come to life and demanded to be set free. He wouldn't be able to stop it. He just couldn't. His only option was to stand there and listen to the familiar yet unusually desperate sound of his own voice as it was about to lay his heart open - bare and vulnerable. Hell, this was the worst thing _ever_. Including the Armageddon-that-wasn't. He wanted to groan, but his vocal cords were already occupied otherwise.

"Why do you think we met all those times over the last six thousand years?", they asked, not waiting for an answer. "Because I loved every single moment. (God, _no_ , he wasn't going to use that word over and over again now, was he? He was. Because _of course._ ) "I loved _everything_ about it. I love your ridiculous clothes and those useless little reading glasses we both know you don't need. I love the antiquated books with moth-eaten covers that no one but you would care to read. I love that certainly very unhealthy obsession with food, even when you're intolerably fussy and it takes hours to have dinner with you. Damn me, I even love those absolutely horrible and embarrassingly bad magic tricks, really, they're humiliating, but I can't help it, I love them."  
(Was it over? Please, let it be over...) 

Crowley felt himself take a deep breath that made him expect the worst.   
He didn't get disappointed.

"So I simply _had_ to check that you don't dare to change anything about it, angel", he said as the air he'd sucked in left his lungs again in form of a final confession, "because every detail is perfect as it is, and I love...I love...I _fucking_ love you."

There. He'd done it. At last, everything was out. Everything was _over_ , more like. Well done, him. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. 

And Aziraphale stared. Eyes impossibly widened. Blue and clear and beautiful. Damn _him_ , too. 

"Angel?" He couldn't bear the silence. "Did you hear me?"

He was such an intolerable chatterbox, usually. But _of course_ , now he was lost for his oh-so-precious words. _Wonderful_! Really bloody fucking wonderful.

"I said I-"

"Y-Yes." The quiet, hesitant voice sounded strange, sort of far away and nearly emotionless, not at all like the angel he knew. "I...I heard you."

The demon watched him in a bundle of nerves and concern as Aziraphale kept looking in the air in front of him so intensely Crowley wondered that there wasn't a hole being burnt through it. It scared him. But he had to ask anyway.   
"Well? And?"

And then the angel moved. He blinked a couple of times as if awaking from a sort of trance, and finally, _finally_ looked at him.

"And...", he said, trailed off, swallowed. "I think...I think I have to go now."

And go, he did.

o~o~o~o~o~o~o

How come he hadn't _known_?, Aziraphale asked himself for what was an innumerable amount of times, pacing up and down in the back room of his bookshop. Why hadn't he _felt_ it? It was a natural part of angelic power to sense love and affection, so why in all of Heaven hadn't he? Or maybe he had? Maybe he had and just...unconsciously suppressed it? Had put it off because the thought that a demon would radiate love was so ridiculous, no, positively _impossible_. Demons were not capable of loving. It was a fact. Or so he'd thought. But now that irrefutable truth had begun to waver, bumped on the words the demon had spoken. Well, one word in particular.   
He was one of his mortal enemies, wasn't he... The infernal force that worked against his heavenly endeavours, the thorn in his eye, the serpent whose head he was supposed to crush under his foot...metaphorically speaking, of course. Aziraphale shivered at the thought. They had worked against each other over all those years, hadn't they? They'd done what was expected of them. Compensating each other's workings, it almost felt like they were completing each other somehow.   
_What a ridiculous idea_ , said the angel in him.   
_But is it?_ , said a totally different part of his self.   
He couldn't deny it, they were friends. Sort of. Oh, damn him, Crowley was his _best_ friend!  
His head snapped up. _Would_ he be damned for it? He was almost certain that he should. But then, this had all been going on for centuries and nothing had happened. Could Crowley have been right after all? Was there no real interest and inspection of their reports and what was going on on earth? Aziraphale refused to believe that. Heaven couldn't actually be that negligent! The audacity-  
He stopped abruptly in his line of thoughts. All this, it wasn't his problem anymore. None of it was of any consequence to him. And the most surreal thing about this discovery was that it filled him with an enormous sense of _relief_. He'd always denied it in front of himself because it should be a horrifying thing for an angel, but he'd never felt at home in Heaven anyway. He'd never even liked the other angels. Gabriel. Ugh. What a smug, self-righteous, conceited-   
Oh, good Lord, was he really just thinking that? How very _unangelic_. And even worse - he didn't feel bad about it at all! He felt liberated. Wonderful, actually. Free.   
He'd chosen earth over Heaven a long time before the decision had been made _for_ him, and it didn't bother him nearly as much as it probably should have. This had always been his home, the place where he felt at ease, like he belonged there. And never more so than when Crowley had been with him on those various and numerous occasions over the years. He enjoyed the little things of human life (food and tartan, especially) but never quite as much on his own as when the demon was with him. He knew that he liked him. It didn't matter that he wasn't supposed to. He clearly enjoyed his company more than anything, more than anyone else's, more than _dessert over a good book._ The other angels had never understood any of those things that were the light and pleasures of his life. But Crowley did. He was the only one who really understood him. He had no one else. When he wasn't with him, there was nothing but being left alone. The demon had been his everything, since...ever, really. He made him laugh, he made him smile, he made him feel good about himself. Could that be wrong? That he wanted to keep that?

o~o~o

He'd ruined everything. He was sure of it. That stupid uncontrollable mouth of his had finally done the trick and scared his angel away. He wanted to scream. Or to punch something. Throw something against a wall to make it shatter into a million pieces. That would've felt good right now. He would've screamed at himself if he could. He would deserve it.   
What if he'd driven him away for good? If he would have to outlive eternity without him after all? Just as he thought to have escaped that dreadful prospect... And even worse, it would be _his_ fault this time. No one else to blame but him and his stupid feelings and over-hasty tongue.   
_Over-hasty_. It was almost funny, really. He'd carried all this around with himself for thousands of years after all. What harm would a couple more decades have done? He could have tried to hint at it slowly, carefully, make the angel accustomed to the thought. But no, of course he'd had to practically throw it into his face all at once. The bull in the china shop. He'd always found that saying dumb. Now he knew what it felt like.   
The angel must have been horrified. Learning that someone like _him_ would even so much as dare to hope that- Or hadn't it been a surprise at all? Ever since the first day they met, this incredibly long time ago on the wall of the Garden, he had been fascinated by the angel. Because how couldn't he? The things he'd learned about him that day...   
This beautiful creature that had disobeyed orders in giving his sword away, out of compassion, for of course that was why. He was talking to him like a person rather than a demon, his enemy, something that wasn't even worth being looked down upon by his celestial glory. And every time he met him over the years, those first impressions had been confirmed and deepened, until he found himself arranging encounters on purpose, until he caught himself thinking about ways to make the angel smile, until he had walked into a damned church without even thinking about it, burning the soles of his feet so badly he hadn't been able to walk properly for half a week afterwards. And it had all been more than worth it.   
Maybe it was just that. Maybe he simply couldn't have helped falling in love with him. Angels and demons didn't use to be around each other very frequently, to understate it. Who knew what effect they had on each other? And Aziraphale was loved by literally _everyone_. Indeed, the first thing humans usually noticed about him at first encounter was that he was very English, very mild-mannered and very well-read (and very _very_ gay, but that was a detail that usually slipped Crowley's perception.) And indeed, they were only just scratching the surface. The angel was beautiful (admittedly, all angels tended to be pretty -shining light of love and everything- but Crowley had always secretly thought this one to be particularly gorgeous, a beauty that went far deeper than physical appearance), he was intelligent, kind, humble... But _strong_. Crowley knew that, even though Aziraphale used to keep that power carefully hidden beneath the gentle surface. It was no wonder humans didn't see it. Worldly power had to be loud and on constant display. Aziraphale's was quiet, steady and deep like the calm ocean, majestic and everlasting. At its core it carried the potential for both, soft gentle waves and roaring destructive tsunamis - and there was simply no need to show it off. Humans didn't know better (though there were just as many supernatural creatures he knew who should have) and they mistook his kindness and mild manners for weakness. They were all fools to Crowley.   
It was a fact that celestial power exceeded his own by far. And with far he meant _far_. He could have discorporated him easily, if he wanted to, but somehow it had never even occurred to Crowley that he should be afraid. The thought that the angel could use that might against him had never crossed his mind, on the contrary, he couldn't help but feel utterly safe when he was around. Protected. It had felt natural to make it his task to take his sense and what little power he had to help the angel in return, and (was it morbid to say _gladly_?) Aziraphale had always had a special talent to get himself in the most unlikely and ridiculous of troubles. Crowley clearly remembered that time during the French Revolution when he had found him in one of the dungeons, about to be beheaded with a thingy he later learned was called a Guillotine (a quite efficient and creative instrument, he had to admit, although a bit bloody for his taste). The crepes. It had been the blasted _crepes_ that brought him to Paris, that complete moron. Crawley had invited him to some later that day, and many times since, dearly hoping the angel would stay that way for eternity. And now he was probably never going to find out because he would have to spend that eternity without him.  
Maybe he should go home and take his anger out on his plants.  
He didn't.

o~o~o

The angel's gaze fell on a book that was resting on a side table next to the comfy slightly worn-out armchair he liked to read in. He knew that book. Admittedly, he knew and had read almost every book in his library (-sorry, bookstore-), twice, but he definitely knew _that_ one. He'd practically seen it as his duty to know it down to the wording. It was _the book_ after all. But he really couldn't remember to have put it there. Gripped by a sudden urge, Aziraphale went over and slumped down in the plushy cushions of the chair. He opened it and immediately felt a smile stealing its way on his lips, because how couldn't it.   
For most people, this was utter nonsense. For some (though very few), it was fact. Others liked to manoeuvre between these two, settling on metaphors and interpretation. For him, it was history. His history. _Their_ history. It was the story of their first meeting, though none of them was in the centre of attention. The way it was told didn't cast a very good light on Crowley, to be honest, and a word about his misstep with the flaming sword was nowhere to be found. Well, to be fair, history-books were hardly ever really accurate. He had to know, he'd been present at every important event, after all, had seen history unravel first hand. He'd actually thought about writing a history-book himself once. (Fine. He _had_ written it. But all the publishers had declined it, claiming that it differed too much from the common historical knowledge. Aziraphale had tried to explain that this was the entire point, but that had simply ended in some doors being slammed in his face quite rudely.) He skipped through the pages with this special sort of feeling, you know, the one when you're searching for something, but you're not quite sure what it is until you find it. And find it, he did. His finger suddenly stopped on a page, unsure what had brought him to hesitate, throwing a glance to the heading. Deuteronomy. Chapter five. His eyes were drawn to the Ten Commandments. He knew them by heart, of course. But now as he looked at the letters, a new one seemed to catalyze through in front of his eyes. Three little words, so simple and beautiful. _Thou shalt love_.   
Hah. Aziraphale smiled to himself. There was such truth in this that he almost wondered why these words were not actually written on the page, they could have been the headline even. It made all the others quite invalid. To lie, steal, envy, kill - who would do that to someone he loved? Compassion was the one and only rule in the end, everything She'd ever wanted from Her creation, and he himself was the very embodiment of that.   
And suddenly, it was like a veil being lifted from his muddled and confused thoughts. Could it really be that easy? Had all his struggles and worries been needless? It couldn't be. After all the rules and laws and guidelines and bans and orders that Heaven and Hell were imposing on them, it came down to this one simple thing? Aziraphale almost laughed out. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous and unlikely and absolutely utterly completely totally _wonderful_! He knew he was right. He didn't know why, he just knew.   
Love. It was always love. Love that had created the universe, love that bore new life, love that was his blessing and his service and the core of his very being.   
_Love_. Aziraphale let the sound roll over his tongue, tasted it like a sip of good wine. Love was something heavenly, wasn't it? Could it still have something to do with infernality, then? Could it be evil? A temptation? Love was pure and good and real. As good and real as anything he had ever encountered in all the centuries he had spent on earth. He himself had been born out of the purity that was God's love. A wonder, a mercy and a gift. A gift he was supposed to spread on earth. Wasn't that his main purpose? His destiny? Loving and making others love in return? However, this task surely reached a border at demons... But then, Crowley had never been like other demons, not to him anyway.  
Warmth filled his belly, expanding in every corner of his body as he recalled the numerous times the demon had done something for him. Nice things. Kind. He wasn't supposed to be _nice._ In any way. And yet he treated him to dinner (very well, that could be seen as an act of temptation), saved his books, saved _him_. He'd also been the one to suggest their Arrangement. Aziraphale had told himself over and over again that the both of them had agreed to this only for reasons of practicality. Business, nothing more. Not because they were interested in being around each other more frequently. Of course not.   
But who was he still kidding? He knew exactly why he had done it. He'd just been too much of a coward to admit it. He had been so sure over all those years that the things he could feel prickling in his belly and ripping at his heart had to be some sort of infernal temptation. Something to be strictly ignored, nipped in the bud. With mortification had he been forced to acknowledge after the first couple of decades that it didn't work. The spark seemed to be indelible. So the only option was ignoring it. Ignoring to the point of denying its sheer existence. Because one thing seemed to be clear - there wouldn't be anything fruitful coming from it anyway.   
Until his demon had proven him wrong. And now it seemed so pointless. All the time and effort he had put into pretending not to be in love. He had _lied_. All the time. For centuries. Lied to himself, to Crowley, to the other angels. That surely couldn't be the way it was supposed to be. 

o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

"Angel?"

Crowley didn't know why he was here. His feet had led him through the door. Seemed his whole body had decided to betray him today. 

"Angel, are you there?"

Still no answer. Was it relief or disappointment he felt? He couldn't decide. Maybe he should just go. Yeah, he'd go. What was he doing here anyway? This was madness. He would only make more damage, for sure. He told his feet to leave. Instead, he called his name again.

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes, Crowley, I'm here."

The angel's voice made equally strong waves of warmth and panic rush through every fibre of his body. Bloody _fantastic_. What the Hell was he supposed to do with these blasted emotions? Well, main thing was probably to keep his tongue under control, this time. The muddled mess that were his feelings could wait. Hopefully.

o~o~o

Aziraphale heard the familiar footsteps nearing the back room. His heart had nearly leapt out of his chest when he heard him call. He hadn't expected for Crowley to return so soon. He'd thought he'd probably scream at his plants to work off...whatever. Or maybe run someone over with his Bentley at an unholy speed. Or maybe-

"Angel, I-I'm sorry", the demon blurted out as soon as he came into sight (because of course he did.) "I don't know what got into me. I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't mean it..?" Aziraphale felt a painful sting in his heart. 

"Well, I-I..." Crowley rubbed his neck in obvious discomfort, and although he felt a treacherous lump forming in his throat, the angel swallowed it. The demon had only said one sentence, and everything was already going _horribly_ wrong. This was not how he had imagined things to develop, this was not- this was-...  
It didn't matter what this was. Crowley mattered. And he was in a truly terrible state. He wasn't even looking at him, eyes fixed strictly at the tapestried floor. It was probably to Aziraphale's advantage. So he had time to collect himself. He truly _truly_ tried. He even managed a smile he hoped to look more encouraging than forced.

"Oh, don't fret my dear", he said in what was hardly convincing light-heartedness. "I was sure you probably didn't _mean_ it that way-"

The demon's head shot up at this. And suddenly, he was Crowley again, not the miserable uncomfortably shifting creature, even if just for a moment.

"Oh, no no no", he said, desperately shaking his head. "I-I meant it. I did. Mean it." He hesitated, bit down on his lower lip. "It's just that I don't want you to think- I don't expect you to- "   
He trailed off with a sigh, and when he spoke again, his voice was steadier, less hurried.   
"You see, nothing has to change. You can just...pretend that I didn't say anything, you-"

"Crowley..." _He meant it_. 

"We can just go on as if nothing had happened, we-"

" _Crowley_."

"Hm?" The demon faltered, looking at him with an alarming mixture of worry, fear and hardly suppressed hope written in every line of his face. It pierced the angel's heart. He couldn't wait any longer. The sight was too much to bear.

Aziraphale had made his decision. He slowly stepped forward to finally come and stand in front of his demon, for _his_ he had always been, as impossible as it seemed. He smiled at him. It was easy. He was sure. After all, love wasn't love until you gave it away.

"You're not fallen to me", he said softly, but still insistent enough to leave no doubt that he meant his words. Following a sudden desire, he reached up and carefully touched the frame of the black glasses he knew to be a part of Crowley's self-protection. The demon flinched slightly backwards, but was soothed by the angel's other hand carefully covering one of his own in comfort.

"Please, let me", he said. A question, a plea that waited for an answer and found it in the demon's troubled features. "I want to see you", he added while pulling the glasses down to reveal a pair of golden eyes that looked like a storm was raging behind them.  
"There", Aziraphale smiled. "Lovely."

And before he knew what he was doing, Crowley had reached forward, grabbed what he could reach of the stupid, old-fashioned, ridiculous, _gorgeous_ brown waistcoat and pulled the angel towards him.   
He would've said that this was Heaven, but he'd been there and he could, with all certainty, say that this was better. _Unbelievably_ better. In all the books Aziraphale had read, he wouldn't have found any words which would have done it justice. It was just- _ineffable_.   
He smiled to himself as his head mildly noted the feeling of fingers tugging at his clothes, running through his locks and pleasantly pulling at the stands. He had no idea what his own hands were doing, far too captured in the sensation of lips moving against his, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and the familiar smell of _him_ flooding his brain.   
Overcome by the intoxicating newness of it all, he dived deeper into the feelings flooding through him like cascades of water that had been released after being held by a dam for hundreds of years. Thousands, really. But that was the miracle, he discovered. Under the sparkling surface of the unexplored, he discovered a sense of comfortable familiarity that was as deep and indescribable as the universe itself. This was no leap into the unknown, but rather the next step on a road that had been formed brick by brick over millennia, held together by a connection increasing since the very beginning of the world, _literally_. And if they had learned anything in six thousand years, it was that some of the best things were those that took time.

It felt like hours until they finally separated, and at the same time, it seemed far too soon. It came in very handy that he didn't need to breathe, Aziraphale's brain had managed to observe halfway through (but that didn't mean he wasn't panting now, anyway.) It was almost strange to him, really. He'd watched humans for such a long time, never believing that the concept of demonstrating affection this way would be appealing to him, yet here he was, the undeniable proof that something as simple as human touch was able to excite such feelings in him.

"How interesting", he muttered more to himself, causing Crowley to lift a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Seriously?" He looked at him almost reproachfully. "All that comes to your mind right now is _interesting_?" The angel felt a huge smile spreading across his face. The mere sight in front of him was enough to make his heart soar, scolding eyes or not.

"Would you prefer tickety-boo, then, my dear?", he beamed in amusement. "I have a lot of-"

Crowley kissed him again. Just a quick peck, this time. Still, it sent little tingles through his body.

"Hm." Crowley grinned in satisfaction. "If I had known this was such a good method to make you shut up, I should probably have done that ages ago." Aziraphale shook his head at him with a little smile in the corner of his mouth.

"Decades", he sighed.

"Centuries." 

"What held you back?" Was is an honest question? Everything in him felt so light right now, he hadn't thought before he spoke. Luckily, Crowley simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Only that you'd probably punch me with that angelic strength of yours", he smiled, not quite sure how much of a joke it really was. "Wasn't too keen on that."

"And here was I thinking that you must find me ridiculous..." 

It _was_ ridiculous. The books, the tea, the cake, the crepes. The tartan and the bow ties, everything the angel apparently thought was stylish but that everyone with the slightest fashion sense would have burnt immediately. It was _totally_ ridiculous. Absolutely absurd.   
And impossibly attractive.

"And I thought you found me evil and grumpy", he admitted, still at least partly serious. The angel smiled, and even though it was still the gentle smile he knew so well, it was accompanied by an almost mischievous sparkle in the sky-blue eyes that promised something _interesting_.

"You _are_ grumpy." Aziraphale smirked when the golden eyes widened for a moment, just a fleeting second though before the demon quickly gathered himself and went along with it.

"And you're too cheerful", he countered.

"I'm _positive!_ "

"Sickeningly enthusiastic, you mean." And Crowley loved it. Oh, how he loved it. It was infuriating and annoying and exhausting and fucking adorable and- 

Good Lord. The angel grinned. He _grinned._ An actual smug grin!

"Aziraphale..." Crowley eyed him suspiciously, sure that whatever it was, it could be no good. "Shut up." The angel cast him an almost theatrically wounded glance. 

"I didn't say anything", he said far too innocently for the revealing shimmer in his eyes.

"But you were thinking _very_ loudly." 

"Only how much I love to see you looking at me like that", he said sweetly, obviously enjoying himself. Fine, if he wanted to play that game...

"Like what?", the demon asked stubbornly. He wouldn't make it too easy. Never mind angelic cuteness.

"Oh, you know."

"You mean like you're the biggest moron I ever saw?" Crowley suppressed a smirk when the angel's face turned from the self-content grin to open-mouthed indignation in about half a second. "That's not unusual", he added wickedly, urged on when the other crossed his arms in front of his chest in clearly pretended offence. "I look at you like that aaall the time."

"Now _you_ shut up!" The angel just about managed to get the words out with some vigour before the huge amused smile he had desperately been trying to suppress spread across his face to give him away completely. Crowley opened his mouth, ready to tease him about it, but the words never left his lips.

This time, it was Aziraphale who leaned forward to capture his mouth, swallowing whatever snappy reply the demon had been preparing.

"You're quite right, dearest", he smiled once he released him again. "That _is_ a very useful method indeed."

This one hadn't even been a very long kiss, but Crowley already felt a bit dizzy. How could it be, if God had left him, that he should be granted permission to even as much as touch the one in front of him? Surely demons weren't meant to feel this happy, like...ever. It seemed like some sort of cheating.  
Perhaps it was true after all. The thing with redemption and everything. Perhaps She _did_ love all Her creatures so much that they could gain forgiveness, even him. How else could it be explained that he should be blessed beyond any entitlement? That this creature of holiness and perfection would not only spend thousands of years being his friend, but _chose_ him beyond anything and anyone, like he had chosen earth above a life in Heaven itself. He was truly remarkable in every way, but nothing would ever be more of an inexplicable miracle to him than that his angel, who had seen deeper into the darkest and ugliest corners of his soul (in case he had one at all) than anyone ever had or would, _obviously_ loved him anyway. 

The angel in question, Crowley couldn't help but notice in more than slight amusement, was in almost _scandalous_ disarray, for his standards. He had taken off his jacket when he got home, leaving him in the cream-white shirt, which was now opened to the third button under the light-brown waistcoat. The checked bowtie he used to keep so meticulously straight was loose, his sleeves had been pushed up his arms, and the golden pocket watch he used to guard so protectively in the left pocket had fallen out and dangled between them, slightly swinging on its chain. Noticing Crowley's eyes on his him, Aziraphale looked down at himself with a suspiciously raised eyebrow, which was quickly joined by the other in an expression of surprise.

"Oh!" The little embarrassed laugh he gave made shivers running down the demon's spine (the good ones) and there was a visible blush creeping up his cheeks once more, even though his face was already quite flushed. It was that infuriatingly adorable kind of blush that always made Crowley want to cover his cheeks with his palms and kiss the embarrassment away - and, with a flash of excitement, it occurred to him that he actually _could_ have.   
"We must look terrible. All dishevelled."

Crowley found the sight in front of him rather far from terrible, but he would be damned to let him know.

"Speak for yourself, angel", he just smirked. "I look always amazing."

Aziraphale, on the other hand, silently agreed with him, but he was _absolutely not_ going to give the demon the satisfaction of admitting it. Crowley was all clean lines, sharp angles and long delicate limps. He adored it. The reddish hair was out of his usual (what Crowley probably considered cool) shape and some strands had fallen into his face, likely caused by his own hands roaming through it, the angel thought with a new wave of heat creeping up his neck. But physicality was just the beginning. He loved how much the demon was attached to his Bentley, the musky scent of leather that accompanied him wherever he went, the way he wrinkled his nose when he considered something to be idiotic (which happened quite frequently, and not inconsiderably often about the angel himself). He loved that he had taken to grow plants (even though he knew he shouted at them most of the time) but still, it was a wonderful thing that Crowley should find pleasure in an occupation that was all about _creating_ something, instead of the chaos and destruction he was supposed to leave in his wake. He loved the way he seemed to stumble through life (which to say seemed slightly hypocritical, coming from someone who had needed to be saved by him not once, but twice), a bit uncoordinated and aimless, really, but somehow always succeeding in the end. Probably because he was so incredibly courageous. The way he was laughing at the face of danger, just putting on his dark glasses and flipping his impeccably styled hair before going for it (looking amazing in a way that should be prohibited) - it was reckless and dumb and thoughtless and absolutely admirable. 

And that amazing, wonderful, extraordinary creature was smiling down at him right now.  
And yes, oh _yes,_ Aziraphale could feel it. _Now_ he could finally feel it. The overwhelming sense of love that poured out of the demon was so unmistakably clear and vibrant the angel almost wondered that he was not visibly _glowing_ with it.

He smiled back and dared to lace his fingers through Crowley's, delighted to feel him gently squeeze his hand in return. He found his own overflowing happiness beautifully mirrored on his demon's face, the way it curled his mouth into an open and honest smile (the one he'd barely ever seen over the six millennia of acquaintance, but that he'd quickly learned to love and frequently tried to entice). The most fascinating thing though was how it shone from his eyes, those beautiful golden eyes he would hopefully never care to hide in his presence ever again, sparkling with such truth and depth that the angel could hardly tear his gaze away from them. Was that what made him feel like he was going to melt? Or maybe it was the warmth that enveloped him like a comfortable blanket, radiating off the demon's feverishly hot body so near to his...   
It was the everlasting spark of hellfire that lived at his core, Aziraphale knew well enough, but the thought that an angel was being warmed by hellfire didn't seem disturbing at this moment at all. It felt like a flickering fireplace after a long day out in the cold, thick woollen socks and a steaming cup of sweet-scented cocoa (with chocolate, cream, marshmallows and all). It felt like... _home_.

They were contrasts, but still complimented each other like complementary colours, one shining impossibly brighter when put next to the other. Two pieces of a puzzle, two sides of the same page. Mixing them up made them...what? Too good for Hell, not good enough for Heaven. It didn't matter now, did it? 

_Human_ , he thought. Seemed it made them somewhat human.

And maybe, possibly, probably...Heaven and Hell were raging right now, demons and angels alike, pulling out their hair, cursing them and being finally united in their disapproval for once.  
But it didn't matter.

Because up, up above, far over all of them, God was silently smiling to Herself.  
Aziraphale had been right all along. Her plans _were_ truly ineffable.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I'm German and always trying to improve my English writing, of course. So sorry for possible mistakes and if you have any notes concerning the language or style or whatever, that would be very much appreciated!


End file.
